Nothing Left
by 16woodsequ
Summary: "What was I supposed to do?" Steve asks sharply. "Wait to hear the news second-hand from your Ma?" He runs a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting as he speaks. "We wouldn't even have had anything to bury, Buck." Bucky dies. That's three times now. And there's never anything left to bury.


**AN: Beware sadness **

* * *

After Steve broke into a Hydra base to rescue Bucky (and had come out with over a hundred other people) they'd taken their march up back to the Allied base, sleeping in shifts and living off of the meager rations they'd managed to find.

Bucky and Steve had a lot to talk about.

The last time Bucky had seen him, he'd been a scrawny kid, hardly reaching up to his shoulder and six inches away from death on a good day.

"I couldn't tell you about it before." Steve says, his voice imploring. "It was top secret, even Ma Barnes doesn't know."

Their standing a ways apart from the group, the trees of the forest around them offering them a little privacy as they try to come to grips with the drastic changes being dropped on them.

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Of course you—" He looks up at Steve, a conflicted expression, almost bordering on angry, crossing his face. "Why'd you have to go and do that?" He questions waving his hand at Steve. "What, some scientist wants to poke you full of needles and you say _yes_?"

Steve shrinks back a little, he hadn't really imagined how he would explain himself to Bucky, but he hadn't expected anger. "I—" He swallows. "It was only a chance." He says. "Only a chance that I'd get chosen, and now I'm bigger—"

"Sure, you're bigger." Bucky cuts in. "That's what you wanted right? Why're you always running off to pick a fight, huh, Steve?" He starts pacing agitatedly and runs a hand through his hair again before scratching at his arms. "See— see, now you're here." He spins to face Steve. "Are you happy? You finally made it. Why couldn't you just have stayed home, where it was safe—"

"What home?" Steve snaps out, his eyes burning as he clenches his jaw and raises his chin. "Don't you get it!?" He takes a step forward and swipes his hand out in front of him. "You _are _home!" He shouts, his throat tight. "A-and if I hadn't come, if I hadn't come, you'd be _dead._" His voice catches on the last word and he looks away. "So don't ask me to feel bad about this because…"

Across from him, Bucky's mouth falls open silently and he pales as he stares at him, his eyes wide. "Steve…"

Steve looks up and pins him with a determined glare. "What was I supposed to do?" He asks sharply. "Wait to hear the news second-hand from your Ma?" He runs a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting as he speaks. "We wouldn't even have had anything to _bury, _Buck."

A heavy silence falls over them and Steve crosses his arms over himself, keeping his gazed fixed on the dirt by Bucky's boots.

"I know you don't want me here." He says softly. "I know you don't think I can do it, but I—"

"You idiot." Bucky bursts out, taking a step forward and clasping his shoulder in a familiar move.

"It's not that I don't think you can do it." He says roughly, ducking his head to look at him, his voice softening the longer he speaks. "Heaven _knows_ you're stubborn enough." He shakes his head. "I was just glad… I just didn't want you getting yourself killed."

Steve looks up and an understanding seems to pass between them before he steps back and rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Well," he starts with a twitch of his lips. "You'll have to wait and see if I survive Colonel Philips once we get back." He ducks his head and gives Bucky an abashed look. "This trip wasn't exactly… sanctioned."

A startled laugh tears it's way out of Bucky's throat and he bends over, placing his hands on his knees for support as he chuckles. "Of course it wasn't." He says, standing up, a light in his eyes that had been missing before. "You're always so dramatic."

oOo

A part of Steve wonders if he should ask Bucky if he wants to get sent home. There's a look in his eyes sometimes now, when he stares out at nothing, that makes Steve wish he didn't have to fight anymore.

But when he asks, Bucky of course, follows him, and soon they're fighting Hydra in earnest, taking out nests and bases as he and the Howling Commandos make their way across Europe.

Steve gains his own look, as he watches men get disintegrated by the blue blast of Hydra weapons. Every time one of them fires, he knows that some family somewhere will be getting nothing back but an empty letter.

Nothing left to bury.

* * *

Two years in, and Steve is tired. He wants the war to be over, and he wants to go home. So, when the plan to capture Zola in his armoured train is proposed, he jumps at the opportunity. The Allies are on the homestretch, they just need a few more wins and then maybe, they'll be able to end this.

Of course, it doesn't go as planned.

Steve is hanging off the side of a freezing train, his heart in his throat, reaching… reaching…

But it's never enough, and the bar of the train car falls away, taking Bucky with a scream that will forever be seared into his ears.

He pulls himself back into the train car, his hands and face numb with cold and his brain numb with shock. The train sways under him, the wind whipping in from the broken siding, and Steve sits, staring at nothing.

Bucky had just… Bucky had… Bucky had just…

"Cap, come in!" Gabe's desperate voice crackles across his radio. "I've got Zola. We're gonna be reaching the jump point any minute now."

Through the fog Steve manages to fumble for his radio and bring it to his lips. "Copy that." He rasps into it, stumbling slightly as he lurches to his feet and glances around for his shield and helmet.

Gabe's eyes dart around behind him once they meet up, frantically hoping against hope that Bucky will somehow magically materialise in his typical position on Steve's left.

"Barnes?" He asks, his expression betraying his reluctance to hear the answer to his question.

"Fell off'ov the train." Steve reports woodenly, clenching his teeth tightly afterwards, as though that will somehow clamp down on the storm of emotions inside him.

A spike of sadness shoots through Gabe's eyes and Steve marches forward, pushing Zola in front of him as he works on focusing solely on the task in front of him. He needs to reunite with the rest of the Commandos. They need to deal with Zola. Then he can…

Then he can…

* * *

After their report, Colonel Philips dismisses them and the Commandos file out of the room, a heavy silence following their every move.

Steve stays behind, standing at attention, his gaze fixed determinedly on the wall above Colonel Philips' head.

The Colonel looks up from his paperwork and eyes him. "Can I help you Captain?" He says, a little suspicious at his behavior.

Steve swallows. "I'd like to request permission to retrieve the body, sir." He says tightly, keeping his gazed pinned to the wall as he speaks.

He knows from the slouch in the Colonel's shoulders what he's going to say. "I'm sorry Captain." He says almost gently. "The manpower that would require… with how close we are to rooting out Hydra… I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Steve closes his eyes and he nods his head. He'd known that that was going to be the answer, he'd known, but he'd had to ask anyways. "Yes sir." He says roughly, turning to leave.

"Captain." The Colonel calls after him and Steve turns to see his sympathetic face. "The Red Army has a unit nearby." He says, fiddling with the papers on his desk. "I can ask them to keep an eye out."

Steve nods again stiffly. "Thank you, sir." He says around the lump in his throat.

* * *

The cold bites into him as he walks to the burned-out village a short distance away from the camp, but he needs somewhere isolated where he can finally sit down and…

His breath stutters and he swallows heavily, his eyes smarting as tears well up in his vision. No matter how fast he marches, how stiffly he holds himself, he can't stop replaying Bucky's death over and over and remembering their fight almost two years ago.

_We wouldn't even have had anything to bury_

A sob catches in his throat as the tears begin to fall, hot and cold against his cheeks.

* * *

A week later, while he's hurtling himself towards the icy embrace of the Arctic, he realises that they will have nothing to bury for either of them.

It's kind of poetic, in a way.

oOo

That is, until he wakes up again.

He hadn't been planning to, and he certainly hadn't been planning on waking up over half-a-century later.

Now, not only is Bucky dead, but the rest of his friends as well. And he hadn't been there for any of it.

He visits the empty graves of both him and Bucky and wonders what was the point of it all. He'd died fighting and woke up fighting and, in the process, had outlived nearly every other person he'd ever known.

* * *

When he'd joined the army, he hadn't been planning on staying forever. The Commandos had joked about the fame of Captain America and he'd always replied with something like 'No one's going to need a walking flag after all this.'

Later, in the more serious hours of the night, Bucky would sometimes ask him what he wanted to do after the war.

"I don't really know." Steve had replied. "But now that I'm not sick, I could do almost anything." His gaze had then dropped away. "If they let me go, that is."

A heaviness had seemed to fall over them then. "What do you mean?" Bucky had asked quietly.

Steve had looked away and fiddled with his shield. "I'm not sure… the military will be completely willing to let go of their super soldier, now that they've got it." He'd explained, his eyes distant. "But I also don't think…" He'd shrugged and looked down. "I think… that maybe, the world has enough super soldiers, I think… I think maybe they shouldn't have _any._"

Bucky had looked at him then, a ragged understanding in his eyes. "If they won't discharge you honourably afterwards," he'd said slowly, tilting his head. "Then… then we'll run. Both of us, fall off the map and live in the woods or something."

Steve had laughed at the thought and he'd bumped Bucky's shoulder in reply, but he'd always had the idea in the back of his mind, that one day, he was going to go home.

* * *

_You are home! He shouts at Bucky, eyes wide and determined because his friend had almost _died, _and he can still hear the Colonel's voice in his head._

_'I've signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But, the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry.'_

* * *

_Where is home now, Bucky?_ He thinks as he stares at the empty grave. _I think I lost it somewhere in the ice._

He joins SHIELD because his 40s work skills aren't exactly translatable to the modern era and at least now, he can try to do some good with what he's been given.

(And if the constant run of missions and training helps shove down the sour pit of emotions that swirl around in his stomach, then that's nobody's business but his own.)

He'd thought that Captain America would fade with time, but by his own actions, he'd forced the idol into legend. Steve Rogers is more invisible than ever in this modern era where people look at him through 60 years of propaganda.

He can still remember the face of the first agent whom he'd sworn in front of, a few days after he'd woken up. Apparently, 'Captain America doesn't swear'. They'd said it with a laugh, as if that would erase the flash of discomfort that had flown across their face upon having the Captain from their childhood clash with the actual flesh and blood man standing in front of them.

He very carefully does not swear for a long time afterwards.

* * *

Two years into his new life and the careful walls of distance and work that he'd built around himself start crashing down.

Hydra had never been defeated. He'd practically been _working _for them this _whole time_ and Bucky wasn't—

Bucky wasn't—

Steve drops to his knees and the world fades to grey, the sounds of the agents behind him blurring together as he stares unseeingly in front of him.

Bucky wasn't even—

oOo

He looks for Bucky this time. He searches and searches and Sam warns him that he might not be the same anymore, that he might not be willing to come home with him afterwards, and he understands that, he does.

But he _has to look this time._

* * *

And then he finds him. And the world continues to unravel.

He standing against Tony in a freezing bunker and he can't let Bucky die again, in the _snow_, he can't, he can't, hecan't,hecan't—

Tony's voice stops him, as Bucky hangs limply from his shoulders, and Steve glances up at the ceiling, the familiar weight of his shield hanging like a burden on his arm.

Captain America drops the shield. And Steve Rogers walks away.

_If they won't discharge you honourably afterwards. Then… then we'll run. Both of us, fall off the map and live in the woods or something._

* * *

He's busy trying not to panic as he lays Bucky down on the seat of the plane, his mind running a mile a minute as the full weight of his actions crashes down on him.

This had _not been the plan_. He had been going to retire, he was going to _stop_. And now he's on the run from basically everyone.

A noise behind him sends him spinning around and his stomach drops as he catches sight of T'Challa standing in the doorway to the plane.

Steve's eyes dart between the king and Bucky, his heart beginning to pound as he positions himself defensively in front of his fallen friend.

Bucky was mostly unconscious now, probably in shock from losing his arm, and Steve had no shield. T'Challa had been hard enough to fight _before_, there was no way he was going to win now in such close quarters.

T'Challa takes a step forward and pulls off his helmet, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Peace." He says, his voice echoing deeply in the small space. "I mean you no harm."

Steve eyes him skeptically, easing back on his stance a little but not relaxing completely. "Why are you here?" He asks cautiously, his eyes sharp.

T'Challa relaxes slightly and starts to explain how he'd learned of Zemo's plot and Bucky's subsequent innocence in the death of his father. "I feel I should make up for the distress I caused." He says, afterwards, reciting off a string of numbers and a password for Steve to use. "Go to these coordinates and say these words, and you will find shelter."

Steve watches, eyes wide as T'Challa begins to leave, shock and a smidge hope beginning to roll through his system. "Where are you going?" He asks as T'Challa steps outside the plane.

T'Challa turns back and gives him a measured look. "There are still things that need to be taken care of." He says solemnly, replacing his helmet. "Zemo must be brought to justice and your friend will not be flying home himself."

With that T'Challa leaves and Steve sits back stunned. A distant part of him is glad that T'Challa has taken upon himself to look after Tony. There's no way Steve can bring him along and try to keep him in the same ship as Bucky, especially since they're essentially fugitives now, but the thought of leaving Tony alone in a bunker…

Giving his head a shake, he turns towards the cockpit and starts typing in the coordinates T'Challa had provided.

It's probably risky, but at this point, he doesn't have a lot of options.

oOo

Wakanda is peaceful in a way that he isn't used to. The Wakandans hadn't grown up with Captain America the same way the rest of the world had. Here he's more likely to stand out because of the colour of his skin, rather than his past.

He's not very good at being idle, especially for the stretch of time that Bucky spends back in cryofreeze.

But once he'd come out, once they'd actually _talked _to each other and had a chance to figure out who they were now, they'd been able to… start living a little, in this new country.

* * *

And then Thanos arrives, and Tony is whisked away into space. There's no knowing whether he's alive or dead, and it's a race against time to try and figure out how to stop the mad titan before he tries to erase half the universe.

They're too late. It's always too late, and he finds himself, tired and battle-weary staring at Thor. "Where'd he go?" He asks, hoping against hope that there's still something to be done.

And then behind him. "Steve?"

Bucky's voice.

_No, please no._

He turns, and Bucky is already half-way gone, his face looking up at him in shock before he collapses to the ground in a pile of ash.

Something reaches down into his heart and _yanks_ as he stumbles forward blankly, his mind uncomprehending. His stomach twists as he kneels down, sending a wave of nausea rolling through him.

Bucky had been right there. Bucky had been _right—_

There's nothing left. He reaches down to feel the ground and can't help thinking that the ashes have mixed indistinguishably with the dirt. There's nothing there. There's nothing _left_—

Around him, his sensitive ears can pick up the cries of shock and horror as the rest of the world starts to slowly disintegrate.

Everything is numb and grey, and nausea swirls continuously in his stomach as the survivors start to regroup around him.

There's nothing left.

There's never anything—

* * *

They regroup back at the castle and try to count the losses. They just keep on piling up.

Shuri, Wanda, T'Challa, Vision, Groot—

"Sam?" He asks in desperation.

Natasha shakes her head. "We can't find him." She says hollowly. "At this point we have to assume…"

He holds it together – if holding it together means standing still in shock – until he gets back to his room. He stumbles inside and the door swings shut behind him before he just sort of… collapses. He doesn't even make it to the bed, sinking to a heap on the floor instead, just, staring.

He feels numb, and he knows as soon as he lets it, everything will start crashing down on him. He feels it looming over him, like a tidal wave, and he knows that once it hits, there's going to be nothing left.

Everyone was gone.

Tony, lost in space somewhere, probably dusted as well. Sam, they don't even know where he fell. Nobody had even seen it, he was just gone.

And Bucky—

A sob catches in his throat and he hunches over himself. How many times? How many times is he going to lose him?

Every time, there was never anything to bury. Nothing left, every time—

* * *

Years and _years _later, he's standing in the Avengers compound with Natasha.

"Some people move on," he says quietly, his chest tight with his old scarred over pain. "But not us."

Not us.

* * *

**AN:**

**The concept of 'having nothing left to bury' with Steve and Bucky has been going around in my head for a while. If you think about it, it's CONSTANT in Steve's life.**

**Usually I like to leave my angsty fics on an upbeat note at the end, but I didn't feel that Endgame ended Steve and Bucky's arc very well, so I couldn't really use it. :/**  
**I was annoyed with Endgame because, like, we never got to see Steve mourn his friends. We get to see everyone else be sad about it but him. He doesn't even mention their names. -_-**

**BTW, I don't really want to argue about the ethics of Civil War. I was just trying to write about Steve's decisions and how his past effected his choices.**

**T'Challa taking Tony back with him has been a headcanon of mind for a while because, A) I know a lot of people were mad a Steve for not going back for Tony, but, I just don't see how that was practical for him (for the reasons I mentioned in the fic).**  
**And B) We know Zemo got captured, and I doubt T'Challa would just LEAVE Tony. That doesn't seem like him, so, in my head, Tony DIDN'T get left behind. *nods***  
**I also liked Steve's nervousness around T'Challa when he first showed up. He's got to have thought that T'Challa was still hunting down Bucky.**

**Anyway, this made me sad. I hope you liked it.**


End file.
